Schoolyard Massacre
by Andrew.In.Wonderland
Summary: A story of trust, survival and vomit. More inside.


_**Manhunt: Schoolyard Massacre.**_

_**UPDATE May 2010**_

_**This has been dead for a long time, but I appreciate all those who still read it. For something I wrote out of boredom three years ago to still be read, well quite frankly it amazes me. I did once have plans to rewrite the entire thing, I still regard it as a rushed piece of shallow work, but it was a first for me and I really enjoyed myself so I might end up doing a rewrite if creativity strikes. I shot myself in the foot a little by starting other projects alongside and allowing myself to be pulled out of focus. I think that I might write again one day, if not a rewrite of this then something new and original, it would be a dream come true to actually have something I wrote published, who knows?**_

_**Thank you for your time.  
**_

_**- FORSTER.**_

**Group One**

**Part 1: Beginning**

The computer emitted a low hum, as Thomas tapped the power button. The monitor flickered to life, and the welcoming tones of Windows starting up jingled through the speakers. It was late, or rather early. It didn't really matter to him. He had to see this video everyone was raving about. He shook the mouse and manoeuvred it to his internet icon. He double clicked it and watched the process of gaining internet access. He was online.

He wasn't really sure how to access the video, and bringing up a search engine and entering 'Snuff Films' wouldn't really help. Someone was bound to have a link, but he didn't really want to go about asking people if they had one. People thought he was weird enough. He yawned, he was tired. Yet he couldn't sleep, this video business would keep him up all night, whether he saw it or not. He decided to do something, rather than challenge his monitor to another staring contest; he brought up the MySpace login page. Typed in his details, and accessed the social networking behemoth that was MySpace. His home page told him of a new message; it also offered him a 30 discount on Alice in Wonderland costumes. Both of these things interested him. He decided to check his new message first, maybe it was important.

Junk. He hated junk messages. It was one of the things he hated about MySpace. In fact, it was the 2nd most hated thing to him on MySpace. The ranking of 1st worst thing on MySpace goes to 'Scene Kids'. It wasn't anything personal, well not with all of them; it was just the fact that he didn't like them and as long as they kept their distance and never tried any interaction everyone would be happy. If they did though, he would just ignore them, and wish them dead. He was a tad anti social at times. He hovered the mouse pointer over the delete button and drew a breath, ready to send that message into digital oblivion. Something caught his eye. The title of the message drew him in, normal spam usually had titles offering free ring tones or Gucci bags, but this was different.

_**EVER WANTED REVENGE ON ALL THOSE PEOPLE WHO EVER DOUBTED YOU?**_

He decided that this could be interesting.

_**EVER WANTED REVENGE ON ALL THOSE PEOPLE WHO EVER DOUBTED YOU?**_

_**Well now is your chance. Ever wanted to turn tables on the school bully, have his fate in YOUR hands? Ever wanted to make that girl who rejected you suffer like you did, break her heart as well? Ever thought that the PE teacher who made you run laps should be running from you? You can. Valiant Videos is proud to present Schoolyard Massacre, a game of survival and sanity. Coming to a school near you. Now's your chance Thomas.**_

_**Brought to you by Valiant Videos.**_

He scanned the message, ready to denounce this as another spam, when he noticed something about this particular message, which no other spam message could contain. His name. He read through it again, and again. Making sure he hadn't misread the message. His heart was racing, his imagination playing out the scenes depicted in the text, he liked these ideas.

**NEXT DAY.**

His alarm clock woke him; the ringing of the silver bell on top of the clock was loud enough to wake the whole house. In fact it did. He went through his usual morning routine, the events of last night not even playing on his mind; he ate his usual breakfast of cereal and coffee, careful around the kettle as he feared it would explode in his hands. He stumbled up the staircase to shower. Today was like any other day. He much preferred showers to baths, as baths weren't as clean and he didn't like the idea of anything dragging him under. Drowning wasn't a relatively attractive prospect to him. It wasn't that he was afraid of death; he just didn't want to be pulled out of the water naked in front of police officers. He clothed himself, and then attempted to sort out his hair, it was a battle he couldn't win and he couldn't really be bothered, so he left it to be and made his way to the door.

The sun was hiding itself rather well today, a few black clouds dotted the sky and it looked as if rain was on its way. 'Great' he thought to himself, 'I bloody hate English weather'. The journey to school was exactly the same as it was the day before, and the same deceased, mangled bird on the path, same smashed glass littered about the path and the same dog was awaiting him to pass the fence that kept it from his boot. It was just a nasty dog really. He never done anything against the animal, in fact he tried to be nice to it. One hot summer day he was feeling rather cheerful so he decided to go pet the animal as it wasn't looking too happy, he didn't know whether animals got depressed or not, and it played the cute and cuddly act until his hand touched its fur. Once all fear of being bitten was gone, the little bastard sunk his teeth into his arm. He recalled the pain of the bite every time he walked past, and by god if he ever got the chance that dog would suffer his boot.

He trudged through the school gates, trudged being the only fitting word as it wasn't really a walk. More of a half arsed shuffle, he honestly didn't want to be here and this was a sort of outcry of that. His school wasn't the best, it was rather dull actually. It fulfilled its purpose, and that's what's important. School life was boring; maybe something would come along and spice it up a little.

He walked into his classroom, staring straight ahead as to make eye contact with anyone would instigate conversation, it wasn't he didn't like to talk. It was just they had nothing relevant to say, it was either how many drugs they did over the weekend or how many times they'd had sex. Boring topics, he wasn't going to be like another mindless drone in this place he called a school. He took his seat on the front desk, murmured a greeting to his friend, who merely raised his hand in recognition. The teacher entered through the door, said a brief 'Hello' to the class and resumed her duties. She was rather short, also rather outspoken. Anyone could run rings around her with some quick words, it helped when you forgot your homework and she tried to stretch her authority. She sat down and began taking the names of the people who actually turned up for school that day, which seemed to only be half of the class if that. Once this task was over, the Teacher rose from her chair and addressed the class, as usual no one listened first time. Her voice rose, and she repeated the message, still no avail. Again, her volume increased a little more, and finally people began to take a little notice.

'A few notices for you all, the school has organised a day out. A trip to the inner city to see the opening of the recently built museum. It is mandatory, and is also free. So just try and enjoy this.'

With that, she took her seat again and began rifling through her work looking busy.

A museum? He had read about the building of this in the paper a few months ago. Some corporation ran by that rich guy Starkweather was giving something back to the community. He lived in the mansion on the outskirts of town; no one has seen or heard from him for a good few months now. He assumed that he was just lazing about counting his money. Still it was a free trip, and it wasn't like he had a choice anyway. The rest of the day went by in a blur, his thoughts resting on the events of the night before. He wondered if he should ask anyone, but what would anyone else know? He decided to give it a miss and keep it to himself. At the end of the day he walked home with a little more haste in his step. Not even stopping to stare hatred at the dog.

Later that night, once he was sure the rest of his family were asleep. He began his search for the famed video once again. After what was hours of browsing, he came to the conclusion that there are some sick things on the internet, and he was never going to find this video himself. He decided to give it up for the night and logged onto his MySpace account. A new message awaited him; he clicked the link and waited for the page to load. It was from the same sender as the message he got yesterday, a different title though. It just said 'Enjoy'. He opened it up.

_**ENJOY**_

_**Hello Thomas, it appears your attempts to find our video are failing. We've decided to give you the link because your number one.**_

_**Thomas, your number one!**_

That was the entirety of the message's contents; they knew who he was and what he was looking for. They even gave him a link to what he sought. He clicked the link and a new page opened. Welcome to Valiant Videos, we hope you enjoy this experience as much as we enjoyed filming it. Below that was the embedded player, the button marked 'PLAY' highlighted, he clicked it and the screen jumped to life. Or in this case death. The video was like a kamikaze of gore and violence. It exploded in front of him. He was glued to the screen, his heart getting faster as he realised that these were real people. Real people dying for his entertainment. The camera zoomed in as the protagonist snuck up behind what looked like a ridiculously dressed clown armed with an axe, the protagonist was armed too. It was a sickle, like the ones on soviet flags. With a rapid movement gore erupted from the neck of the clown. The next scene was showing a kind of pan shot of what looked like a desecrated parking lot. Thomas realised that there were people in that parking lot, all of them armed with some sort of melee weapon, and all of them wearing matching masks. A gang. The camera switched angles and it showed an 'over the shoulder' shot of the protagonist. This time he was carrying a metal baseball bat in one hand, and the sickle made a return in his other hand. Hidden in the shadows the protagonist edged closer. Careful not to alert any of the armed masked men, one of them was walking into the shadows right at him. The protagonist scurried behind a stack of boxes, the kind you keep live animals in, hoping that this litter would prove a useful purpose. The unzipping of jeans could be heard as the masked man started to relieve himself. The protagonist took his chance and edged closer, the gang member continued on relieving himself. Completely oblivious, he was even humming a tune to himself as he went.

The protagonist raised the sickle high above his own head and brought it down in one fierce, swift motion. 'Off with his head' Thomas thought, reminding him of the Red Queen. The severed head made a light thump as it hit the floor, soon followed by another as the body it belonged to fell forwards and slid down the wall. The camera zoomed in on the severed head; a look of shock froze onto it.

The camera cut to the group of masked men, down by one leaving 3 remaining. They would get suspicious soon. Something flew past the camera and directly into the group. A severed head, a look of shock still froze onto it. The men jumped with shock of the reality before them and frantically began looking about for the culprit. The realisation of the hunters becoming prey hit them hard, fear struck in. Some coped better than others, but one of them couldn't take it anymore and made a dash for the gate. A stupid move, the protagonist was waiting for him. The mask turned around as he ran to check for pursuit, yet didn't have time to turn around as out of the shadows his face collided with metal. There was a crack on bone and the body kept its motion as it flew forward, then slumped to the floor. The protagonist wanted to make sure he was dead. He raised the bat above his head and smashed down on the already bloodied face of his victim, again and again he pounded the skull until it was nothing more than a pile of gore and bone. Thomas was excited; he knew the other two masks didn't have a chance; he awaited the bloody end in awe. The smashing of the skull caused quite a lovely noise, and it attracted the prey to the protagonist's position. It looked as if he was going for a full assault now, not bothering with stealth. Only two left, he could take them. The prey stopped as they saw a figure rise to its feet, they then noticed the shiny glint of the sickle and bat as he raised them in the moonlight. The protagonist ran at them, not giving them a chance to react, before they knew it he was already upon them. With a quick flash of the sickle to the first's chest, he fell to the floor clutching his body, as if trying to keep his organs inside. The second received a powerful smash to the ribs, knocking him to the side. The protagonist spun with the sickle in a celestial arc and brought it down on the neck of the remaining victim. The head detached and gore spurted from the neck of the victim, covering the protagonist in glory. He wiped his weapons clean on the clothes of the victim missing his head and turned to leave. He heard a muffled groan, as he realised that the one he tried to disembowel was still alive, even if only just. He pitied this man, clutching his chest in a futile attempt at life. The protagonist walked towards him. Knelt down next to the dying man and rested the sickles blade on his throat.

'Nothing personal.' The protagonist muttered as he tore open the victim's throat, silencing him instantly. Gore erupting from the wound covered the floor around the protagonist. The massacre was over.

**Part 2: Daytrip**

_**9:00AM**_

Thomas arrived at school, a tad late. The excitement of last night had him gripped for hours. He didn't know how many times he hit replay on that video, or how many times he paused on the frames just as the blood sprays from the body. He did know something though, that video had changed him. Not physically, no. Apart from slight dark circles around his eyes from lack of sleep he was exactly the same as he was the day before. It was mentally what had changed; he used to think that violence was just for horror films or videogames. Last night had changed all that, the way the crimson life soared from the wounds of each victim, the speed and grace of which the protagonist moved was almost poetic. Rather like ballet. It had changed his views on murder altogether, it wasn't a brutal sadistic act anymore, it was an art form.

The bus was already undergoing preparations for leaving. It was one of the school owned buses, a light yellow with a bit of a faded black stripe going through it back was almost white due to the cleaning products used on it when Thomas's friends had tagged 'Fascist' on it. A bit of a random thing to spray, but he didn't have time to ask why, no school wants the embarrassment of carting their students in a bus marked 'Fascist'. It doesn't exactly look good on the record, not that anyone cared. Approaching the bus, he noticed that his teacher hadn't showed up. There was a tall, strong built man, wearing all black, standing in front of the bus. He noticed Thomas coming towards and motioned him over, what could he want? Thomas thought. Thomas noticed he was carrying a clipboard and pen, roll call most likely.

'Your name?' The man enquired. Thomas decided he'd refer to him as black suit, as it was the easiest noticeable thing about him. Thomas merely scanned the list of names and found his, and pointed to it. He noticed a variety of ticks and crosses next to some of the names, along with a few scribbled out. The man glanced down to where his finger was, and then back up to Thomas.

'Go on in.' Black suit motioned his hand to the door.

Thomas ascended the steps. Looking at the people who had already got on the bus, he noticed that there was quite a mix of people attending this field trip; there was a group of girls chatting away to the left of him. At the back sat all the hardcore trouble makers, as usual wearing their massive blue jackets and tracksuit bottoms. Actually there were only 3 of them there; usually the group was a bit bigger. Maybe they were late, or had sneaked off for a cigarette, either way it was still unusual for such a small amount. To his right sat a few people he could converse with, his friends he would even say. Even though he didn't trust any of them as far as he could throw them. In actual fact, wasn't that far. He sat down and slung his schoolbag from his back and straight to the floor. A thump of books to floor signalled his arrival to the rest of the present class. A few glanced at the source of the noise, and then went back to their idle chit-chat. Within the next couple of minutes only a few more people had entered the bus, about 20 students in all had decided to come. Black suit climbed aboard and signalled the driver to leave, and took the front seat. The realisation of the bus moving come to light, and everyone went back to their conversations, and Thomas slipped in his iPod earphones and drifted off into his own world.

**Part 3: Field Trip**

Thomas awoke just as the bus was pulling in to park at the museum; the parking lot seemed strangely familiar. Boxes piled high in one of the corners, the kind of boxes used to transport live animals, strange. What would a museum want with live animals? If Thomas's knowledge served him right, it was just being opened today? Actually for an opening of a new museum, shouldn't there be people outside? There was only one man outside, dressed in some sort of white suit with a black tie. He wore shades even though the sun hadn't bothered today; his hair was a fading black colour. It was probably closer to gray actually. He had a look of a professional about him, like an executive for some major company, or a banker. He didn't wear a smile, he had pale skin which looked surprisingly young, making him look no older than 30. He decided to call him White suit, again after his suit colour. How odd, Black suit and White suit. What a pair.

The bus came to a stop and the door hissed as it opened, rather like a cat when it senses danger. Black suit stood up and looked like he was ready to talk, silence wasn't asked for but it was given. From the look on his face he probably didn't have much patience, and would snap if he had to even try to exert any.

'You have been chosen, you lucky souls, to come watch the grand opening of the Starkweather museum. It was founded by Lionel Starkweather, most of you will have heard of him, but does anyone know what he does?'

No one really knew, there were a few murmurs of 'Banker' and 'Manager' because he sort of fitted that profile. He was fat, rich and incredible secretive. He didn't interact with the public much.

'Doesn't he work with a bank?' One of the girls enquired, everyone turned to look at her when she spoke, and then back to Black suit for an answer.

'No, but he does have a lot of money. He use's a bank mind. Have some points for trying though.' His voiced sounded rather cheerful, yet patronising. Rather like a first schoolteacher talking to her students, or a mother to a child. He cleared his throat as to demand silence, and continued.

'Well, no more guesses? Mr Starkweather happens to be a director of sorts. He made what we call 'Underground Films' anyone knows what that means?'

There were a few giggles coming from the girls at the back.

'He made porn?' One of them asked.

Black suit turned to make eye contact with the girl and gave a sort of half smile.

'No, not pornography. Mr Starkweather makes horror films. But he didn't use any of those Hollywood special effects; he preferred his movies not to be littered with flashing lights and red paint.'

The class took that in, and after a few moments of silence Black suit clapped his hands together and smiled.

'Let's go in shall we?' He turned an exited the bus. Everyone started to rise out of their chairs and collect their bags, and then made their ways to the exit.

The museum was a huge building; it blocked out the sun and caused an immense shadow to engulf the parking lot. Thomas looked up at the building; it reminded him of something from an old horror movie. Entirely stone, apart from a few out of place additions. Perhaps that's what Starkweather intended; he might want to set one of his horror movies here one day. It looked quite gothic, very small windows, all seemed to be fitted with metal bars on the outside. Probably just installed to deter burglars, or to stop something getting out perhaps? The front doors reminded him of some sort of fortress, they were massive. They were made entirely out of a rust coloured metal. They didn't really fit the scene; they must've been installed along with the bars. The museum was beginning to seem more like a prison than a source of education. He noticed Black suit and White suit were in front of these doors, talking and glancing over to the group of students every so often, who were crowding outside the bus, chatting away. Once they had finished their conversation, Black suit went over to the group of students, everyone went silent. He looked like he had something to say.

'You will leave your bags here outside, and proceed through the front doors and into the room on the right. There are already chairs set up; on the chairs you will find a card. That card has a name on it. Find your name and sit in your designated seat. No switching around, we know who sits where and it'll only hold things up. There is also a coloured envelope on the chair, differing from red, green, blue and black. These will determine what groups you are in. Do not open them until instructed, any questions?'

No one said anything, and they began to take off their bags and pile them up near the bus.

One of the boys decided he had something to ask, and as he began, everyone turned to him.

'Do we need to take anything?' He shuffled his feet as he asked, and straightened his back as he spoke.

'No. Take nothing but yourselves inside. I should've made it clearer, my bad. Please everyone empty all pockets and leave all coats here too. Everything you need is inside.'

With that answer given, Black suit turned on his heel and began to advance towards the entrance. Thomas's eyes followed his path, until he turned to the right out of view.

He slid his bag off his shoulders, not that it was on properly anyways, and caught it in one hand; he walked over to the ever increasing pile of luggage and threw his atop of it. He turned on his heel, mimicking a soldier, and proceeded to walk to the doors.

**Part 4: Challenge.**

Once everyone had entered the room, Black suit and White suit left and after a few minutes, carted in a video projector. White suit began setting it up as Black suit addressed the class.

'We have a sample of one of Mr Starkweather's films for you to have a look at; some of you might like it. Its one of my personal favourites, I'm sure some of you have seen it.' As he said this his gaze was fixed on Thomas, and Thomas's gaze was fixed on him. They seemed locked in contest with each other; Black suit broke contact and looked at his partner.

White suit nodded to Black suit as he strode towards the wall and killed the lights. Darkness for a few seconds, then one of the walls was illuminated in a bright white light. A countdown ensued on the makeshift screen. 5. 4. 3. 2. 1. Static. Then life was projected onto the wall, as the film began. The students snapped to attention as they realised that the video had begun. Thomas froze to his chair as he realised that this video was all too familiar. People in the class began to realise that the film was very real, not the fake Hollywood films. The violence on the screen reflected in their wide eyes, many looked away. Some could hold their stomachs, others couldn't. Thomas heard people retching and saw people get out of their seats and make a run for the door. White suit closed it violently, and clicked the lock in place. One of the girls couldn't hold it in anymore, her face full of tears as vomit trickled through the gaps in her fingers; she removed her hand and a torrent of what was most likely her tea from the night before exploded from her mouth and crashed down to the floor. She slumped to her knees and started whimpering. Seeing this sparked off a chain reaction to the class, other people began vomiting uncontrollably. White suit and Black suit just stood there smiling at the chaos. Thomas looked around; everyone else was either on their knees vomiting or huddled in the corner trying to avoid stepping in it. One girl had even gone as far as fainting, no one bothered to help her out. They were too caught in the chaos. Thomas noticed that the two men had started putting on masks, gas masks, and White suit pulled out a radio from his pocket and casually unlocked the door, as if all was normal. He raised the radio to his mouth and seconds later a group of men clad in black military uniforms burst in, all wearing gas masks. The door was relocked and Thomas didn't even have time to cry out 'Why?' as a soldier ripped a small silver canister from his back. He loosened it and let a green tinted gas pour into the room. Everyone started staggering, as if drunk. Thomas felt drowsy all of a sudden and fell to the floor. Forced sleep took hold of him.

**Group Two**

**Part 5: Turn and Draw**

Thomas awoke to find himself in a dimly lit room. It was quite spacious; he noticed that he wasn't alone. 2 other students from his class were still unconscious on the floor. Thomas checked himself over for any damage, apart from a slight headache and a light bruise from his fall to the floor. He was fine. Limbs still intact, all organs appeared to be still inside him and working and he was still clothed. In fact that was probably the most important thing to him. He could live without a few of his organs, and as long as he had the necessary ones he didn't really mind. He arose from the floor, rather than just stay lying there, and walked over to the other inhabitants of the room. He recognised them both, one of them was a girl about 5'7" slightly tanned skin and she appeared to be intact as well. The other was the average bookworm, short stature, glasses and tidily combed hair. It was amazing it stayed so tidy through all the hustle and bustle of the earlier events. Thomas decided to leave them for a bit while he surveyed the room. They were both breathing at least. The room was hardly illuminated by the one unshielded light bulb hanging from the ceiling, it was quite bland actually. There were two doors, both smaller versions of the ones from the front of the museum. Thomas walked to each of them and tried to open them, no luck. The only other feature of the room was a set of artists easels stacked in the corner. Thomas went for further investigation; it appeared that there were 3 of them. All with fresh canvases, but no paint was to be found. Thomas pulled one out and began to unfold it into its upright position; a red envelope fell from the canvas as he did this. It was addressed to him; he remembered that just before the chaos they were each given envelopes. Perhaps he should open it? Thomas slid his finger to the edge of the envelope and peeled back the fold keeping the contents from him. He pulled out a letter from inside.

_**Hello Thomas!**_

_**How are you? Hope the knockout gas didn't have any major side effects. The same concoction they used in the war! You may have noticed that you are trapped. Sorry about that, but you have some lessons to learn. Think of this as a big test! We have set a task for you and your friends while you're locked in here. Completion will lead to advancement. We'll open the door so you can proceed to your next exam! We have high hopes for you! Your task is a simple one, remember art class? Well this is just like it, but sadly we forgot the paint, and the brushes. You may have noticed that the edges of the easels are quite sharp, sharp enough to cut yourself with! Creativity flows through you and your friends, we want to see your creativity on paper! Have fun Thomas!**_

Thomas read it through again, was he supposed to spill his own blood on the canvas, as some form of obscure modern art? There was a groan from behind him; the other two were waking up. A shrill scream echoed from the walls of the room as the girl realised that she wasn't dreaming. Thomas turned put his finger to his lips, noise wouldn't help. She put her hand over her mouth to stop any noise from escaping and calmed down a little. The boy was adjusting his glasses as he rose.

'Where am I?' He asked. He looked at Thomas, who merely shrugged. The boys breath quickened, he looked like he was about to have an asthma attack. He reached into his pocket for an inhaler most likely. He froze, his eyes wide, he had left it with his bag. As instructed earlier. He fell to the floor and started coughing violently, his breath quickening. People didn't die of asthma attacks, or did they? Thomas didn't know. He hurried over and helped the other boy to rest against one of the walls. He looked like it helped, his breathing although it was still fast, slowed down a little. The girl was just standing there dumbstruck from the events. She snapped out of it and crouched down beside Thomas.

'Will he be okay?' she half whispered, as if still in shock.

'He'll live…' Thomas looked at the girl, she was shaking. Her brown hair was ruffled and her eyes were quite bloodshot. She stared back at him, studying him as he was her. A few seconds of silence passed, when Thomas broke out of it.

'I'm Thomas, I have no idea why were here. But I'm trying to figure it out. I found my envelope from earlier, it contained just one letter. It's a task.' She tilted her head to the side as she listened, her hair moving in front of her left eye as she did, she raised her hand and brushed it back into place. Thomas watched all of this and waited for a reply.

'Alice. I don't know why were here either. I don't have my envelope; I dropped it when everyone started erupting. It was horrible.' She finished what she had to say and held out her hand in a gesture of greetings. Thomas shook it.

'Matt…' He also held out his hand, and Thomas shook it also. He never really noticed these people, even though they were in his class. He'd seen them around, but never said anything to them. Thomas stood up, Alice followed. They both extended a hand to help Matt up, he took both and they heaved him to his feet. They all exchanged small smiles, a rarity for Thomas. But the approval felt good. Even in the midst of all this anarchy, Thomas had made friends with two people he would otherwise ignore.

The three huddled around the letter in front of them, Matt and Alice both shared the similar reaction of a gasp as they reached the task they had been set. Thomas made sure they'd finished reading and neatly folded the letter into thirds, then slipped it into his pocket. Might come in handy he thought.

They unfolded all the canvases and placed them parallel to the wall Matt was resting on only minutes earlier. There were no more letters to be found, and as the letter said, the edges were razor sharp. The trio had to be careful when lifting the canvases out, even though they weighed little, they could still do considerable damage if handled incorrectly. As they were unfolding them Thomas's mind flashed back to the small dog which had bitten him last summer. He was caught up in the memory, and he nearly dropped the canvas right on top of Matt's neck. Hadn't Alice have snapped him out of it, Matt would've been in serious pain, or even a possibility of death. If it slipped from Thomas's grasp the edge would've buried itself through Matt's white school shirt and straight into the very top of his neck. Almost a certainty of it killing him in a matter of seconds. He would've died from blood loss if that didn't happen. Thomas decided it was best not to think about it. He didn't slip up and that's what mattered.

With all the canvases set up and in place, they began working out how they should approach their task. Matt suggested they just prick their fingers on the edges, and maybe that would suffice a pass into the next room. Alice didn't like the idea of cutting herself; in fact she was totally against it. She revealed she was hemophobic, and feared the sight of blood. This proved a problem. Matt suggested that he and Thomas cuts their own hands and Alice takes blood from either to put on her canvas. With any luck that would be allowed, it wasn't like they could check anyway, there were no cameras watching them. At least they hoped not, to make sure they all decided on doing the task, and Alice wouldn't have to draw blood.

Thomas and Matt stood themselves in front of their canvases; Alice had turned away and was huddled in the corner with her eyes shut. She looked rather cute wrapped in her fear; it was an odd thing to notice at a time like this. But she did. Thomas took first move and rested his hand on the sharp edge of the canvas. With a quick sliding motion his skin slit like a second set of lips, and the crimson life began to leak onto his sleeve, dripping to the floor. He grimaced in pain and turned his attention to Matt. Matt was fixated on the blood sliding down Thomas's skin. Matt rested his hand on the edge, just like Thomas had, and dragged his skin lightly across the edge. It cut like a razor, neat and straight. Matt raised his hand to the canvas, and pressed it against the paper. Thomas copied, and then made his way to Alice.

'Ready?' Thomas looked down at the girl, she was shaking with fear. She swallowed loudly and rose to her feet.

'I guess…' her voice was as shaky as her limbs. Thomas was afraid she'd faint. Turns out it was her who fainted when the video was shown. If she fainted it would make things a lot more difficult. She managed to stagger over using Thomas as a crutch and readied herself in front of the canvas. She put out her trembling hand and Thomas dripped a little of his own blood onto her fingers. As each drop landed, she flinched violently. Thomas using his other hand took hold of hers and guided it to the canvas, as her hand touched the paper Thomas dragged it down lightly to create a smear of red on the paper. Once this was over Thomas used the sleeve of his shirt to wipe the blood of Alice's hands before it dried. Her eyes remained firmly closed and her face was deathly pale. Thomas cleaned off his own hands and looked over to see Matt doing the same. He'd ripped off one of his sleeves to form a crude tourniquet, Thomas copied. Once the flow of blood was restricted, Thomas instructed Alice to open her eyes. She was still trembling and couldn't look at the bloodied canvases. Although some colour had returned to her face. With the task over, they wondered what to do next. They were answered almost immediately by the loud sound of a bolt being taken out of place. They all backed away from the door it was coming from and pressed against the opposite door. The iron hinges creaked as the door slowly glided open. The light from the door illuminating the room almost perfectly, the canvases cast the loveliest shadows as the light passed over them, they glided with a sort of magnificence you wouldn't usually expect from a shadow and finally came to rest on the floor in front of the trio. They walked towards the light, and into the next of their trials. They had made it past one, how many do they have to face to gain their freedom?

**Part Six: Human Anatomy**

The new room was exactly like the one before it, except it had a lot more lights protruding from the ceiling. Everything was illuminated. Thomas surveyed the room, same features as the last, one entrance and one exit. Firmly bolted just like the last. The room contained three metal tables, each one of them new and shiny. They were aligned parallel to the opposite door, just as the trio had placed the easels only minutes before. The centre table had a green envelope resting upon it. Thomas walked over and picked it up. It was addressed to Alice, so he passed it over and she tore away the seal with her nails. She removed the letter and held it out so Thomas and Matt could also read the contents.

_**Hello Alice!**_

_**Congratulations on overcoming that first trial, it must've been hard for you. Sadly, this one will be a lot harder. The three tables in the room, all spotless and clean just for you, are surgical tables. The same ones the police department use when dissecting corpses. You probably haven't noticed that there's a vent on the ceiling, its open. Were planning on dropping in a few of your school friends to help you complete this task, they hold the key to advancement inside them, sorry if they aren't as talkative as they were in school. They were being a nuisance so we removed their heads. Have fun Alice!**_

Just as they finished reading the letter through, they heard a loud banging from above them. They stepped back away from the centre tabled and away from the vent. One by one black bags descended with speed into the room. They each hit the floor with a sharp crack of bone against the concrete floor. They were body bags, there were three of them. That means 3 of their school friends were already dead. Thomas walked slowly to the foot of one of the bags and spied a metal zip at the bottom. He looked at Alice and Matt; they were still staring at the body bags. Thomas decided he better get things over with if they wanted any chance of survival. He knelt down and placed his hand on the zipper, it felt cold, as if it had been chilled in a fridge. He glided the zip through its course and peeled back the black plastic sheet to reveal the contents. It was a female body, completely naked; she was missing her head, as promised in the letter. Her body was covered in wounds, cuts littered her chest. It appears that there was a sexual element to the killing of her; her breasts were left perfectly intact and unscathed. Thomas had read about the psychology and methods of serial killers before, it were a hobby of his.

He slid the plastic from under the body and rolled it up, tossing it into the corner. Thomas realised that Matt and Alice hadn't moved a muscle during the entire process. They just stared straight on, taking in the scene. Thomas raised his hand and clicked his fingers, as if trying to snap them out of a trance. They both jumped in unison and returned to reality. Matt edged closer while Alice surveyed the scene, not daring to look at the body on the floor. Fear was an obvious feature of her face; her eyes were open a lot wider than normal. Her hands were clenched into fists and shaking violently. Matt got near Thomas and took a look at the corpse. Thomas turned his head upwards to meet Matt's.

'We need to put her on one of the tables…'

Matt didn't say anything in reply but he moved towards the arms of the body and knelt down, he gripped the girl's wrists and nodded at Thomas. He moved to the legs of the victim and with a nod in return they hoisted the dead weight up and rested her on the centremost table. Alice was huddled in the corner like before, her hands on her face. She was crying. Thomas pitied Alice, her mental frame wasn't accustomed to this kind of thing, and she was an emotional girl at heart. She'd never experienced anything like this, never saw a corpse before. Matt seemed to be taking the whole situation quite well, he was quiet, but remained calm through out the tasks.

Matt moved to the other body bag, Thomas moved to the one remaining. As Thomas unzipped his bag there was a clang of metal on concrete. Something fell out onto the floor; Thomas picked it up and examined it. It was a scalpel, the kind doctors used to cut people open. The kind he would have to use to cut these people open. 'They hold the key to advancement inside them.' Thomas figured that there was something inside the bodies that they needed. From what he could see on the female corpse, there were no telltale marks of previous insertion of a key, or anything else they could use to get out. Thomas looked over to Matt who had already placed another corpse on the table adjacent to his. He too was brandishing an item, not a scalpel though. Matt's corpse had come packaged with a cleaver. The kind butchers use to cut up meat. Thomas motioned to Matt for help as he raised the last corpse on the only free table.

'What do you think we're supposed to do?' Thomas let his gaze switch from corpse to corpse; the other two were male, also missing their heads. From what he could see they were in far worse condition than the female. Their genitals had been removed and their bodies were covered in a variety of wounds. Some looked like brands from a hot iron; the others looked like holes from a drill. They must've suffered a lot.

'The person who did this is heterosexual.' Thomas offered.

'How do you know?'

'The breasts of the victim are intact, meaning there was sexual attraction to this particular victim. The male bodies are in far worse condition and missing their genitalia. This meant that the killer preferred the body of the young female, as opposed to the males.

Matt just looked at Thomas for a few seconds.

'How do you know these things?'

'I spend too long online…'

An awkward silence arose for a few seconds. Alice was still weeping in the corner.

'Looks like Alice won't be of much help.' Matt broke the silence.

'She's a sensitive girl, from the shock of what she had to do earlier; I think we should let her sit this one out.'

'Fair point, mustn't be easy with her fear. I admit I'm scared, in fact I'm terrified. I'm hiding behind a mask of calm, but you. Your unmoved by this, you haven't flinched, you haven't cried, you haven't reacted at all. How do you do it?'

This was something that puzzled Thomas himself, he wanted to be scared. He wanted to share the fear of his companions, to be normal like them. He couldn't force it; he had a strength others didn't. He didn't know why. Thomas looked at Matt, he was awaiting his reply.

'I'm not sure.' With that Thomas walked over to the first of the male corpses and began to take in the details. What was different about this corpse from the female one was that he did look like he'd been stitched back together. There was a straight line of neat stitches running across the chest of the corpse. There must be something inside. Buried treasure, Thomas thought. He smiled to himself at his personal joke, although it wasn't at all appropriate. It was like mentioning Zyklon B in a synagogue.

Matt and Thomas had decided that the best way to tackle the situation would be one corpse at a time. They started with the 1st male corpse, the one with the stitches across his stomach. He must have something inside him; perhaps they had removed something from inside him as well? They also decided to keep the cleaver spare, as it would be a lot bloodier than a normal scalpel, also a lot more difficult when trying to be precise. Thomas took up the task of actually wielding the scalpel; he had quite a steady hand, which he didn't mind getting a bit dirty. Gore didn't bother him; he'd been desensitized once he watched that video, only a few nights before. He rested the scalpel at the start of the stitching; taking a deep breath he sliced from right to left breaking all the stitches. The corpse opened up like the bud of a flower, its contents seeping lightly over the sides onto the table, trickling onto the floor. Everything appeared to be in place, Thomas wasn't a biology student but he had a basic idea of what should be inside a human. Matt studied the corpse, like Kasparov studies a chessboard, after a few minutes of nearly complete silence, all that could be heard was the faint whimpering of Alice, he extended his hand and pointed inside the body.

'Look.'

Thomas didn't see anything unusual; there was the usual set of organs. There were 2 lungs, a heart, 2 kidneys, a liver and the intestines. He tilted his head to the side; he wasn't quite sure what to look at. He returned his quizzical gaze to Matt.

'Those intestines aren't his; they've been stitched back into the body.' Thomas noticed the small stitches joining the intestines with the rest of the body.

'Shall I remove it?' Thomas asked.

'Go ahead; it might lead to something useful.'

Thomas pressed the scalpel down hard on the stitching at one end of the intestines, it broke with ease. He moved on to the next set of stitches binding the organ to the rest of the body. Again they broke with ease. Thomas placed the scalpel with ease onto the table and lifted the severed organ out of its place. It felt heavy, well a lot heavier than Thomas thought it would.

'There's something inside of it.'

He re-equipped the scalpel and placed the intestines on the table next to the corpse. He placed the blade at the top of the intestines, and like with the corpse, opened them up, spilling their contents onto the table. Much of it pouring onto his clothes, the cold liquid smelt a lot like the sewage plant on the outskirts of town. His mother was going to kill him, if something else doesn't first. He looked at the opened organ, there was something inside. A small skeleton key, Matt saw this and grabbed it. He hurried to the door but stopped abruptly in his tracks before he actually reached them.

'What's wrong?' Thomas enquired.

'There's no keyhole, this key isn't for the door.' Matt rested the key on the table and let out a loud sigh. Thomas got a good look at the key, it was old. It was a strange faded brown colour, reminiscent of the doors outside. Thomas wondered if he'd ever see outside again, ever breathe in fresh air, and ever sit on the grass with a book under a tree. He wondered.

Matt was already moving to the 2nd male corpse, it too appeared to have stitches across its stomach. But they were embedded in a diagonal fashion rather than a straight line. Thomas wondered what secrets this corpse held inside of it. Just like before he opened up the body, slightly shocked to see what was inside, or rather what wasn't. There were no organs inside this body, they'd all been removed. In their place there resided a small metal box, Thomas slowly descended his hand and picked it up. It was the same colour as the key they found earlier, and best of all, it had a space for a key to be placed. This box could hold their freedom. Thomas motioned his hand towards the key and Matt retrieved it and placed it in his outstretched hand. Slowly, Thomas inserted the key. A perfect fit, he twisted the key anti-clockwise and the light click of a lock coming undone was to be heard. He let out a breath of relief. This whole thing might be over. He removed the key and placed it down on the table. He then raised his hand to the box and slowly pried it open. It made a soft creek as the hinges got to work. Thomas's heart dropped as he came to realise the cruel joke that had been played upon him. Inside the box sat another box, smaller and also locked. It was a light shade of green, and the key from earlier wouldn't fit. Both Thomas and Matt turned to set their eyes on the last remaining corpse. The female.

Thomas respected women; he tried his best to be chivalrous throughout his life. He wanted to show the same respect now, and get the dissection over as quickly as possible. She had no marks of previous surgery, meaning that the next item needed to be found was inserted by other means. Thomas looked down in pity on the corpse, had she been raped before she was killed, or after? He grimaced at the details of the task, and from the look on Matt's face, he knew what was coming. Thomas walked towards the end of the table and rested his hand on the corpse's thy. He moved his hand further up the body of the corpse, until he reached her vagina. It had been quite mutilated, what looked like razor cuts covered the organ; it had been forcefully torn wider by the sick bastards who put Thomas and his friends in this room. He knew that there was something most likely forcefully inserted inside. He knew that obtaining it could mean his survival. Once he gathered his nerves together, he looked away and slid his hand inside, once he managed that much he began to realise the extent of the internal damage. He was looking for a small key, although it felt that someone had forced a drill inside. He let his hand enter a little deeper and he felt it brush against something hard, something metal, and something key shaped. He grasped the key and slowly removed his hand from the corpse of the young girl, he felt truly sorry for her. Not only was she killed, she was defiled. His sympathy truly went out to her. He raised his hand into the light and saw that he had obtained a small green key, he handed it to Matt, who began to open the box as Thomas picked up one of the body bags from the corner and wiped himself down. Alice was still huddled in the corner, not watching what was going on, but not crying anymore. Thomas heard the click of a lock opening and turned to Matt. Matt pried open the smaller box and took out the contents. A folder piece of paper, Matt unfolded it. It was a message, much like the letters they had received earlier.

_**Congratulations are in order; you found our letter, another job well done! What did you think of our handiwork? Like what we did to the girl? She screamed so much as we ripped her open. She was so tight to begin with, and there was no way our key was getting in, so we had to loosen her up a bit. We do hope you endure the next task as well. We love watching how you handle the situations. Yes, there's camera's were recording the whole ordeal. If you make it out alive, we'll give you a signed copy of the DVD! Think of it as an incentive for survival. Have fun!**_

The lock of the opposite door was released and the door burst open. The soldiers from earlier burst in and aimed their guns at Matt and Thomas. They raised their hands in surrender. One of the men raised a pistol at Thomas and fired, he hit the floor. Matt soon followed. As they drifted out of consciousness the screams of Alice could be heard, fading slightly after each one. There was another shot fired and the screams stopped outright. Was this the end?

**Flashback One: Disturbed Childhood**

The merry-go-round was a brilliant red, children shrieking in laughter and approval as it revolved on the spot. All the children were playing, all but one. One child was not playing with the others, that one child didn't feel like playing. His name was Thomas. He was 7 years old when his father was killed in front of him. Death is something a child should never have to experience, especially not the death of ones father. Thomas never talked much after the death; he dared not get attached to anything after that. Humans are weak; they die and leave you all alone. Thomas's father was a tall man, so tall he could lift Thomas onto his shoulders, when he did this Thomas felt that he could touch the sky, anything was possible when his father was around. He never got tired; he was always there, but no longer. Thomas remembers the day well.

It was summertime, bright blue sky lined with lovely white clouds. Thomas was playing catch with his father, but Thomas's father threw their ball a bit too hard, chuckling as he did so. Thomas remembers seeing it flying through the air above him, shining as the sun caught it in midair. Thomas wishes he could've caught it. He gleefully gave chase. He doesn't know quite what happened after that, Thomas was pushed down to the floor from behind, he seemed to soar in slow motion, and he landed heavily on the pavement in front of him. The ball rolled away, out of his grasp. He heard the screech of car brakes and the impact of body to bumper. The car swerved out of the way and came to a halt a few metres down the street. Thomas got himself up and turned around to see what had happened. What he saw then stayed with him the rest of his life. The driver of the car got out and ran; Thomas has been running from the memories ever since.

They said that his father had died instantly; the impact of the car was like a stampede of metal. Thomas remembers what the body looked like before and after the impact. His fathers smile no longer on his face, but smeared all over the road which he now lay on. His spine was broken, and protruding from his flesh at alternating angles, it even tore through his clothes. It resembled the spires from the local church. There was nothing left of his face, apart from bone and the flesh that had managed to stay on. His skull was cracked in many places; the impact of the car had done horrible things to his anatomy. No longer did his internal organs remain… internal. His heart was in the right place, he saved his son at the expense of his own life. He loved him that much. The driver of the car managed to escape a major jail sentence. He was given 3 months for running away from the scene; he testified that Thomas and his father came out of nowhere. It was Thomas's fault his father died that day, his mother knew it, and he knew it.

He hid himself away from the world and never left his room. He sat there in the centre, staring through the window into the outside world. His mother couldn't even look at him anymore, as a cry of attention he began doing obscure things. He talked to himself, as he was on only child, and no one dared talk to him after what happened. He drew the most horrifying things. Before the death he drew pictures showing him happy with his father, always smiling, they used to decorate the fridge with the drawings. After the death he still drew pictures of him and his father, or at least the doctors who studied him assumed it was his father. In every picture he drew there was always someone next to Thomas, a tall black silhouette seemed to shadow him, sometimes it had lines coming from its back, like bones protruding from flesh.

Doctors said he needed therapy, his mother couldn't be happier about throwing him in an institution; she felt nothing for him anymore. She hated him for what he'd done. He spent nearly 11 months in the same dimly lit, padded room. His only visitors were men in white coats, he never spoke to them. The doctors never did anything to help; they asked him questions, many questions, which he gave no reply back to. They gave him drugs to keep him sane, they made him even sicker. He never slept much anymore; he sat on his bed in the shadow every night repeating that it 'wasn't his fault'.

He developed what the doctors called a 'mental barrier' after the incident. He never showed emotion to anyone anymore. Even when he was back in school he never bonded with any of the children, he became quite alone. The other kids teased him for his silence, he didn't react. On his first day at his new school he came to the attention of some bullies. They decided to make an example of him and corner him on his way home. Thomas didn't fight back, he didn't even scream out in pain when they thrust him against a wall and took turns at throwing punches. Once it was over, the bullies panting with effort, Thomas picked up his schoolbag from the floor and left. No tears, no retaliation. No reaction whatsoever. It was only when he met his councillor at the high school that he began to react to the outside world again. He was taught emotion, he was taught the joys of having a friend and Thomas left their sessions feeling better and better. The hole in his heart where his father belonged was still there, but he'd learned to live with what happened. He'd moved on.

**Part Seven: Confinement**

Thomas awoke with a splitting pain in his left temple, the tranquilisers had worn off. He writhed as the pain grew, all he could hear was a digital shriek, increasing in volume. He screamed out in pain. There was a loud click, the noise stopped. Thomas rose to his feet and brought his hands to his temple. There were stitches; he had been operated on while he was unconscious. What had they done to him?

'Thomas, welcome back.'

Thomas darted his eyes around the room looking for the source of the voice. It seemed to come from everywhere.

'Who are you? Where are you?' Thomas shouted at the walls, awaiting an answer.

'I'm your conscience Thomas, I'm inside you.' The voice burst into laughter as it announced this. Thomas knew this couldn't be true; there was no such thing as a conscience. They were messing with his mind. The stitches in his temple must have some significance. He might as well ask, he thought.

'What are these stitches? They have something to do with how you communicate with me don't they?'

There was silence for a bit, then more laughter.

'Your quick boy, very quick. Yes. The stitches in the left side of your face have something to do with our communication. I'll be straight with you, you'll probably guess anyway. While you were out, we cut you up and enhanced you. Nothing major was done, just a few wires here and there. The only noticeable implant is the microphone, we implanted it so we could hear you and you could hear us. No worries, no one else can hear us speaking to you. Shame it wasn't the same for you speaking to us, it may have been a slight advantage in the next task. Silence is one of the better things in life, it may just save yours.'

Thomas took all of the information in, and raised his hands to his face. What did they mean by enhancements? Was he still human? He felt more machine than man now. In fact he'd felt like a machine most of his life, different from everyone else, emotionless. All that changed when he did, perhaps he didn't change. Maybe it was only a mask placed on him to make him human, to make him fit in more. The recent events tore off that mask, and showed him for what he really was.

'What IS my task?' he spat out.

'Now you're seeing things our way, you may have noticed that your team mates are missing. If you don't hurry they'll be dead. We've decided to add some more contestants; a few members of the beloved faculty of your school were more than happy to join in, with the right persuasion. They also have been given tasks. Also we have what we like to call, an 'exchange' student. The exchange was his sanity for the lives of his family. We butchered them in front of him, made him watch too. He wasn't as strong as you, his mental state deteriorated very quickly. Soon he became what he is today. I won't ruin the surprise for you, but he's very dangerous. We promised him that we'd bring his family back if he played; his delusions made him believe us. He's playing. Don't worry he's confined now, rather than I explain it, why don't you watch?'

Just as he finished the door of the room burst open, Thomas hadn't looked the room over yet, he was still in shock. Armed guards ran in and pointed their guns at Thomas. He instinctively raised his hands above his head. He didn't like the idea of being darted again, they could 'enhance' him even more while he slept. Two more guards piled in the room, one carrying a television and the other carrying wires. They set up the equipment and left as quickly as they came, the armed guards edged out of the room after them, guns still pointed at Thomas. Once the last one had made it out the door, it slammed shut again and the lock was clicked in place.

The TV wasn't exactly modern, yet it fitted the room rather well. Dull and grey, just like the walls. Thomas began to let his eyes wander around the room. A single light, barely fulfilling its sole purpose of illumination. The room had cold grey walls, with a mould substance dotting the walls like groups of fungi constellations. The floor was stained, a variety of colours littered about forming something oddly like a rainbow, once you drain it of happiness. The TV flickered slightly and came to life. Thomas fixated his eyes on the screen.

The video feed was coming direct from a security camera. The details of the camera's location and what zoom setting it was one was displayed in the left hand corner. Although you couldn't see anything, the lights in that room mustn't be on. Perhaps that was better, did Thomas really want to see this? He had no choice, he heard the loud crack of lights being switched on, and one by one the lights flickered dimly, and then grew brighter until the entire room was engulfed in light. There was a figure knelt down in the centre of the room, not facing the camera. It was eating something, at least that's what the noises of it gnawing down on what was ever in its hands suggested.

'How about we zoom in a little Thomas?' The voice in his head asked him. Thomas didn't even answer; he knew that the camera would be zoomed anyway. The closer the camera got to the figure, the sicker Thomas became. The figure was covered in a shiny red substance; it reflected the light off its body so magnificently. It glimmered off the walls and onto the floor creating rays of red light shining away from the figure; it reminded Thomas of the Japanese 'Rising Sun'.


End file.
